Amara said nothing.
“And I’ve been taking its cousin every day for seventeen months.”
“Then you need to stop.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“If I stop suddenly, Bellini will notice improvement.”
“You want to keep taking a neurological suppressant?”
“I want him to think I am.”
Amara leaned toward him.
“This is not one of your business games.”
“No.”
Luca looked toward the dark window.
“It is a murder investigation.”
The next morning, Luca swallowed every pill Bellini gave him.
Then, ten minutes later, he made himself vomit privately into a sealed bag.
For the following week, he repeated the process while Amara designed safe substitutions.
His body changed rapidly.
Sensation returned first.
Then pain.
Terrible, burning pain.
Luca welcomed every second of it.
Pain meant nerves were alive.
At night he bit towels to avoid screaming while his legs spasmed.
Only Sofia saw how bad it became.
One afternoon she found him sweating, fingers locked around the chair.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Should I get Mama?”
“No.”
“You look sick.”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s what grown-ups say when they’re not.”
Luca almost told her to leave.
Instead he whispered, “Stay.”
So Sofia sat on the floor beside him.
No basin.
No miracle speeches.
She simply held his hand.
Luca had ordered executions with less emotion than he felt in that moment.
He had spent two decades building a reputation based on fear.
Yet the person beside him was a child who wanted nothing from him.
Not money.
Not protection.
Not power.
Only for him to get better.
“You know,” Sofia said quietly, “my papa used to hold my hand when I had fevers.”
Luca looked down.
“I thought your father left.”
“That’s what people say.”
Her expression became strange.
“He disappeared.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“What was his name?”
“Gabriel Alvarez.”
Luca’s thoughts stopped.
He knew that name.
He had seen it somewhere.
“Your father worked here?”
Sofia nodded.
“With cars.”
The room went cold.
“What kind of work?”
“He fixed them.”
Luca could barely hear her now.
Gabriel Alvarez.
Mechanic.
Villa Rinaldi garage.
Three years ago.
Luca reached for the intercom.
Then stopped.
If Matteo had killed his driver—
if Bellini was drugging him—
and if Sofia’s missing father had known something—
then the conspiracy was older than the crash.
“Did your father ever talk about my car?”
Sofia’s brow furrowed.
“Once.”
“What did he say?”
“He told Mama something was wrong.”
“What?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Try.”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Luca waited.
Then Sofia opened them.
“He said, ‘They want the accident before the accident.’”
A chill moved through Luca.
“Exactly those words?”
She nodded.
“And then Mama cried.”
Elena Alvarez entered Luca’s private study at 2:17 the following morning.
She looked terrified.
Luca locked the door behind her.
“Sit.”
She remained standing.
“Mr. Rinaldi, if this is about Sofia—”
“It is about Gabriel.”
Every trace of color left her face.
Luca knew immediately.
“You lied about his disappearance.”
Elena’s breathing quickened.
“I never—”
“He worked in my garage.”
“Yes.”
“He found something.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Elena.”
She turned away.
Luca wheeled himself closer.
“What did your husband find?”
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then eleven years of careful silence collapsed.
“Your car had been sabotaged before.”
Luca felt ice move through his chest.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“Before my actual crash.”
“Yes.”
She began crying.
“Gabriel found a device connected to the braking system. Small. Electronic. He removed it before you drove.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He tried.”
Luca remembered nothing.
“He asked to see you. Mr. Matteo intercepted him.”
Of course.
“What happened?”
“Elena.”
Her hands trembled.
“Gabriel came home that night and said we had to leave Italy. He said he had found evidence that someone close to you was planning to kill you.”
